


An Assistant

by Amalia Kensington (amaliak01)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 21:47:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaliak01/pseuds/Amalia%20Kensington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He really wants her to be his assistant. Because she’s not that bad, for a girl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Assistant

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I don't own Sherlock. Lord knows what would happen if I did. 
> 
> Based off a prompt: Sherlock realizes his feelings for Molly

She had been seven years old when the boy with the unruly dark hair shoved a dead rat at her.

"Do you want to do an experiment with me?"

She hadn't noticed how his face was flushed or the way he wouldn't meet her eyes. No, she would remember all that later. What she noticed right then is that all her friends had run away screaming, but that the dead animal didn't scare her. It made her...curious. She had gripped her notebook tighter.

"Sure," she had said, her voice a bit shaky, but it was enough to make him snap his blue eyes to her.

"Excellent!" he said, grabbing her wrist with his free hand and pulling her across the playground. "I've already set up a space, butI need an assistant."

*******

She had been ten years old when her parents couldn't afford to keep her in that school anymore, and she had to leave.

"That's not _fair_ ," Sherlock had said, actually glaring at her like it was her fault.  

She had scooted closer to him. "But I don't live that far. We could still see each other after school, take care of those cultures you have in the greenhouse," she had offered hopefully. The thought of leaving was bad enough without leaving him.  
He had seemed to be considering her proposal. "I think you wouldn't be allowed on school property anymore. But that doesn't matter, what we're doing is more important."

His eyes gleamed as he leaned in closer to her. "I'll have to sneak you in here, won't I? Like pirates smuggle in treasure."  
Molly's had nose wrinkled at that. "You're not smuggling me in a wooden box, Sherlock."

He had frowned. "Why not?"

********

She had been fourteen when she'd really noticed.

Sherlock had finally reached her height over the summer and she could actually look him in the eye. It was startling how blue his eyes were, and how piercing they were when they weren't hidden behind a curtain of dark curls.

They had been working on an acceleration of acidity experiment when before she had realized what she was doing, she had brushed the hair back from his forehead as he had leant over to work.

Those blue eyes had stared at her for a moment, wide in surprise, so intense she had looked away with a blush, quickly writing some gibberish in her notebook and hoping he couldn't see the blush that she felt had bloomed on her face.

*******

  
She had been seventeen when her father got sick.

Sherlock had been in uni for a year and she hadn't heard from him at all, and so Molly had sat in her room, the bedroom floor littered with scraps of paper and worn notebooks dating back ten years, her neat penmanship highlighted with the occasional scrawl of data from her partner.

He had always said he needed an assistant to take notes and to mix things for him, but he had never once asked for a copy of them.

Looking around her once more, Molly had carefully put them all away in a box, taped it up, and had shoved it deep beneath her bed.

*******

  
She had been twenty two when she's run into him coming out of a pub near her flatshare.

He had almost run her down, their bodies colliding painfully on the street, but he had still caught her before she hit the ground.

"Molly!!" he'd cried when he recognized her and had enveloped her body in a crushing hug that she'd never in her life gotten from him before.

He had looked so pleased to see her, was smiling wider than he'd ever had before, tittering on about nothing at all and that's when she had noticed his pupils had dilated to almost pinpricks in a sea of blue. He had been high as a kite and something in her had felt like it had broken.

She had spoken gently to him, trying to not anger him but failed as his mood shifted from jubilation to anger. He had yelled at her for scolding him, or treating him like a child, for not being there when he needed her.

She had to remind him that he was the one that had left her.

"Yes, well, it's not like I need an assistant," he had spat out venomously, turning on his heel and stalking away from her. Molly had to remind herself that this wasn't really Sherlock and it had valiantly decided to hold back the tears until she was alone in her own room.  

And suddenly he had come back, whirled her around and brought his mouth crashing down on hers, his grip on her body nearly painful as he had crushed her to him, invading her mouth and stealing her breath.

It had been like having an ember doused in gasoline, fire springing for a moment when she had given in to him against her better judgement. But it was no more than a moment that her mind had allowed it, remembering all too well the state he was in.

She had pushed herself away, turned and walked brusquely down the street and into the tube stop, not daring to look back him.

She hadn't made it all the way down the stairs before the tears spilled over.

*******

  
She had been twenty eight when he had breezed into her morgue, tall and lean and determined.

He had walked right up to her and shoved a bag full of blood vials at her.

"I'm going to need these analysed," were the first words he'd spoken to her in years, and she glanced down at the bag in his hand, and instead of voicing all the questions that she probably should have asked, the only thing she had said was, "I can't do them all myself."

He had smirked at that. "I was planning to run them, actually. But...I need an assistant."

She had raised an eyebrow at that and he had the decency to look away from her, momentary uncertainty on his features so much like the boy who'd approached her with a dead rat.

"I'll show you the lab," she had replied.

He had smiled.

*******

  
She had just turned thirty two when she came from the worst Christmas party of her life.

She had tossed off her shoes and quickly stepped out of the disaster of a dress, letting her hair down and tossing the silver bow in the garbage.

How could she have been so stupid? She had known better, she really had, had known not to let Sherlock get to her, known not to believe for a moment that there may ever be something more. That particular train had left the station on a one way trip long ago and there was no use crying about it now.

Sherlock Holmes would no longer have a hold on her life.

She had taken a deep steadying breath as she'd pulled on her cheeriest jumper and fuzzy socks, scooping up Toby in a hug before moving into the kitchen for a much needed drink.

She hadn't the chance to actually get to it before the phone rang.

No one else was available, she was needed at the morgue.

With a sigh, she had pulled on her shoes and coat and gone down to Bart's.

*******

She was going to turn thirty three in a week when Sherlock stepped into her bedroom and sat gingerly on the bed, his hair damp but now blood free, his shoulders still tense and wound up as if to spring into action at any moment.

"What now?" she asked, sitting down beside him quietly, keeping a small distance between them.

"I-" he swallowed hard and glared at the wall in front of him. "I don't know."

She nodded in response and they both remained quiet for a long time.

Finally, she cleared her throat. "Well, if you ever decide on what to do...If you need...well, if you need anything at all, I told you: you can have me."

He didn't respond right away and she wasn't about to sit around and wait for the awkwardness to subside. She stood up and walked back towards the door, with every intention to make herself a good strong cuppa.

His fingers caught her wrist, stopping her from leaving his side and even managing to pull her back towards him.

His stare from the wall had broken and he was looking up at her, blue eyes holding hers captive. He swallowed thickly. "I-always need an assistant."

She felt her lips pull into a smile at that and she gave into the urge to run her hand through his hair.

She leaned down and kissed his forehead lightly before stepping back and walking away.

*******

END

**Author's Note:**

> Finally decided to post this here.


End file.
